


End of the beginning...

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix It Fic, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Season/Series 09, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's had to tell Sammy about Zeke, will he be able to fix what he broke? Or will the angel give him a helping hand...</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of the beginning...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [echoes_of_another_life](https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_another_life/gifts).



> This is a fix it before the fact fic. I am sure it will get jossed ( sex between brothers aside) but I needed this for my own personal piece of mind. Did you know writing sex with three people in two bodies is quite difficult, lol. Also, this is for stir_of_echoes she really wants Zeke to be a good guy, so do I. This is my take.

Dean surges forward to try and get between Sam and escape but the look of sorrow on his little brother's face stops him dead.

"Sammy, wait, _please_..."

Too late, the door swings closed on Sam's defeated shoulders and Dean doesn't know whether to chase or leave well enough alone.

Zeke's warning that Sam can eject him hangs heavy in the back of Dean's mind but he knows his little brother and he's not stupid enough to reject the angel without talking it through first, not now he's had it properly explained. Or at least that's what the older man is fervently praying for.

Sam's disgust at being used without consent is bad enough, but Dean can't handle the idea he may still lose his baby brother simply because he won't put up with Zeke riding shot gun.

He can't be that stupid, can he?

Dean knows he's kidding himself, knows that Sam's hatred of being worn is nothing compared to his disappointment in his brother. That's the thing that will make or break the situation with the angel, not Sam's distrust of the wingless brigade, but his shattered trust in Dean.

He just hopes Zeke keeps his head down long enough for Dean to talk some sense into Sam. The last thing he needs is to find his brother having a blazing row with his inner halo. 

He couldn't lose him, not again. Not after everything they'd been through; hellfire and falling douche bags, hounds at their heels and exploding leviathans. It will all have been for nothing if Sam doesn't stop and _listen_.

Dean hasn't managed to speak to the angel on Sam's shoulder since it all came out, he doesn't know if his little brother would be able to survive without the angel enema yet but he does know that the last thing he should do is dictate to the younger man.

Sam's stunningly impressive anger issues will be the least of Dean's problems if his brother decides he doesn't want the angel to stay purely out of spite.

Dean's on the verge of chasing after Sam when he hears a high pitched whine followed swiftly by a blinding white light seeping round the edges of the motel room door and he acts on instinct, not knowing exactly what's happening but instantly figuring it can't be anything _good_.

~^~

_Sam..._

Sam drops to the floor, fingers digging into his temples.

_Sam!_

Sam's nails claw into his hair, yanking and pulling, teeth clamped so tight his jaw aches, _Don't talk to me!_

Sam's whole body convulses with the effort to not let Ezekiel take control. Sweat breaks out on his brow, fat little droplets beading in his hairline, dripping down into his eyes, making them tear and sting.

_Sam, you're in danger_.

Curling in on himself, Sam gnaws the inside of his cheek, tastes the sourness of his own blood, _Stop it. Stop it! I don't want..._

_STOP! You will die._

Tucking his knees into his chest, Sam concentrates on the sound of his own breathing, the feel of his heart beating wildly in his chest, the bite of gravel against his cheek, anything to block out the echo in his thoughts, the parasite worming it's way into his consciousness.

He feels gentle hands slide beneath his shoulders and drag him upward. He fights against the weight pressing into his back, the push and pull of Dean trying to get him back inside their room, "Get the fuck off me!"

He can't open his eyes, the light's too bright, too much, but he hears Dean's sharp intake of breath. Good, this is all his fault, all his god damn fault.

Dean steadies his wavering brother, points him in the direction of their open door, "Zeke, if you can hear me, stop it, whatever you're doing, stop it, NOW!"

Sam's body goes ramrod straight, back audibly snapping before he stops struggling in Dean's arms and an eerie blue light emanates from his eyes, "Dean, I can not, if I do he _will_ eject me and we have got company coming."

Sam can feel his mouth working, his lips forming words he isn't responsible for and he scrapes and claws his way back into his own limbs, "Stop it, stop it, this is _my_ body!"

Dean doesn't know whether to slap Sam or just bundle him into the car and take off, "Sammy, please, stop being a dick. He's trying to help. I did this for y..."

Too late, Sam's forced back down before he can answer his brother with the string of expletives hanging on the tip of his tongue.

Zeke feels Sam's consciousness kicking and screaming in the back of his mind and marvels at the strength in this young hunter, in his battered and bruised psyche, "Dean I am going to have to make him sleep, if I do not he will forcibly remove me and we really do not have time for a sit down chat."

Zeke stumbles against Dean as Sam shoves his way to the surface, "Dean don't let him, don't let him _please_."

As Sam forces Ezekiel to the back of his mind the angel realises that he's got a lot more power than even Dean knows. He may choose not to use it, but the demon blood and Lucifer's lingering strength still flow within the young man's veins.

Deciding that perhaps he should allow Dean to try and talk some sense into his brother, he settles back, curls his wings inwards until he is a dull spark in the back of Sam's head.

Dean hears the terror in Sam's voice, sees the moment the angel has taken a back seat and feels, for the millionth time, like the biggest heel going, "Sammy, I'm sorry, I'm so...come on let's get you inside."

Dean wrangles Sam's limp heavy body into their room and slams the door with his boot, "Sit down, just, sit, calm, okay?"

Sam watches the guilt and self loathing creep in around the edges of Dean's already low opinion of himself and wants so badly to say something that will make it alright, that will lessen the betrayal for both of them, but he can't. He can not see a way round the fact that his big brother promised they'd fight together and then handed him over to the first fallen fuckwit that came along, "Calm... _calm_."

Dean makes a grab for the whiskey bottle buried at the bottom of his duffel and pops the cap. Amber burn coursing down his throat, he swallows twice before wiping his mouth and looking at Sam still glaring and spitting on the bed, "Sammy you were dying."

"So!"

It's a physical blow, that one tiny word knocks Dean back on his heels. Hands grappling for the wall behind to steady himself he allows the desperation he can feel choking him to overpower his voice, "What..."

Dean's back in that church; Sam hovering above Crowley, pale skin stretched painfully tight over hollowed cheekbones, and he feels the small amount of control he's been maintaining snap and disappear, "So... _SO_. You were dying Sam, you were going to leave me, again! I heard you, I was in your head. Death offered you the out and you were gonna take it, even after we promised each other, even after I'd begged you..."

Sam doesn't remember being in the coma, Dean's told him all about the angel attacks and the hanging by a thread but he doesn't remember anything other than watching the sky light up like Christmas before blackness took him, "Wha...Death? _The_ Death?"

The last of Dean's resolve crumbles at the lost sound in Sam's voice and he drops to the floor, whiskey bottle in his hand hitting the carpet and rolling under the bed, "Death Sammy. He came to collect, the big muckity-muck himself decided to snaffle you up and I heard you. You pleaded with him to make it permanent, to make sure no one could odds it out or deal it away."

Sam watches Dean crumple and his hands itch to hold him, to reach out and wrap him in the circle of his arms, but he still can't force himself from the bed, "Why?"

Dean's shoulders shake with the effort not to scream in Sam's face, "You wanted out obviously. You were going to leave me behind, alone."

Sam knows Dean's been driving himself insane with guilt since he let Ezekiel take control, he doesn't have to say it, Sam knows his big brother well enough to see when something's been eating at his insides, but he didn't understand how much he himself had hurt Dean in the process, "There must have been a reason Dean. I wouldn't just...give up."

Dean hangs his head to hide his face, hide the tears threatening to fall, "You said you didn't want anyone else hurt because of you."

Sam opens his mouth to reply when the door splinters and shatters inwards.

Two sets of twisted features sneer at the brother's, light glinting off silver blades held high and ready, and Sam automatically rolls sideways off the bed towards Dean, "Company, shit..."

Dean's on his feet and backing Sam towards the bathroom when he has an idea, a bad idea, but an idea none the less, "Sammy, you gotta let him out."

Sam's shoulders stiffen and he's about to swear bloody retribution for Dean even thinking it when he hears Ezekiel in his mind.

_Sam, he is right, you are not strong enough. You are better than you were but, I could do this by force but it would hurt you and you would never forgive either myself or your brother...do you wish to see Dean murdered because you were too stubborn to allow me to help?_

Ezekiel decides the time to play fair is long since past and forms vivid images in Sam's mind. Dean's mouth hanging slack, blood dripping from his eye sockets, chest caved in, sliver blade protruding from a gaping wound under his ribs, _Is this what you want?_

Bile rises in Sam's throat at the horrendous images flashing across his mind's eye and he shakes his head violently, _No!_

Dean watches Sam fighting for some semblance of control in a situation so fucked up it's almost funny and wishes desperately that he could make this easier on his little brother, "Sammy, no time here, Zeke's a good guy, he's just a little...angel-y."

Sam almost laughs at that but can't shake the picture of his brother laying broken at his feet, "Okay, _Okay_!"

_Okay._

Sam's been here before, he's been shoved and shunted and buried until all he can feel is hatred and cold hard rage. This is different, he thinks if he folds in on himself, forms a tight little ball with his soul, that it won't hurt so much when the angel takes control.

Dean watches the light in Sam's eyes change and fade and he has a moment of blind panic, of irrational fear that Sam's giving in and disappearing. It lasts moments but it's enough to make him realise how close he was to losing Sam in that hospital.

Not that he didn't already know, as the faint blue haze shining out of his brother's eyes proves, but he could really have died, would have walked his ass into heaven and watched while Dean was left to pick up the pieces of his shattered soul, "Sammy..."

"Not right now."

Dean feels Sam's body shift into that of the angel, stance widening, shoulders squaring, power practically humming along his muscles, enough to create a static shock where Dean's hands touch bare skin, "Zeke. Welcome back."

Ezekiel turns and stares at Dean as if he's grown a second set of arms, "I never left."

Dean shakes his head and nods towards the two wingless angels stalking into the room, "It was...never mind. Little help?"

Sam can hear the hurt in Dean's voice, and the fear, and he knows he's just allowed the angel riding around in his skin to take the wheel but his mind still reaches out regardless, even knowing he can't physically touch his brother, _Tell him I'm okay. Tell him I'm still here._

"Close your eyes." Ezekiel raises both hands and allows the strength within to shine out across the room, to obliterate the angels intent on killing the Winchesters, _He knows you are here._

Dean hooks his face into the crook of his elbow and turns his back to the room. Heat blasts across his skin, singeing the hair at the nape of his neck.

Sam tries to open his mind to Ezekiel, tries to explain without words why he needs Dean to know he's okay.

The angel watches Sam pull up memory after memory; Dean's face after Sam was resurrected the first time, the love and reverence in the hug he didn't want to let his little brother out of. The anguish in his eyes as Sam dragged Michael down into the pit, the white hot fury at having his brother taken from him, again.

Ezekiel has already walked the halls of Sam's mind, already seen all these memories laid open without the young hunter even knowing, but strung together like this, with a coherence and context he could never have grasped on his own, he understands why Dean needs the reassurance and why Sam needs to give it in spite of the anger still boiling away in his subconscious.

The angels in the doorway disintegrate and Ezekiel pays them no attention as he turns to Dean, pulls his arm from his face and stares straight into his eyes, "Sam wishes me to explain that he is fine. He is apparently still going to _Rip a strip off_ but he is alright and he is safe."

In spite of the fact that Sam's probably never going to fully trust him again, Dean still can't help the laughter bubbling up along his ribs, "He can try. Thanks Zeke. Look, I know this is a bit fucking cheeky but, you mind disappearing, me and Sammy got some shit to discuss."

Ezekiel nods and folds himself inwards, allows Sam complete control of his body, _We also need to talk Sam Winchester_.

_Later._

Sam blooms back into his own body, strength in his limbs, strings re-attached, "Dean, it's me."

Dean smirks then turns away before he does something silly like trying to kiss Sam, he's not ready for that rejection so soon after Sam's anger, "No shit Sammy, you should see yourself when he's in charge, you look like a skinny Hulk instead of some lanky underweight nerd."

~^~

Sam sits atop a bench in the park opposite their motel. Chin resting on steepled fingers, eyes closed to the world around him.

He's trying really hard not to hate Dean for allowing Ezekiel head space, but the hurt is still raw and weeping. He understands, he really does, but his brother knew what the answer would've been if he'd played fair and square.

Sam shakes his head and sighs before scraping his hair away from his forehead.

_Sam?_

_Piss off._

Ezekiel lets it slide, lets the hunter throw viperous thoughts in his direction before running his hands through the simmering resentment at the front of Sam's mind, _He loves you_

Sam shakes his head again and bites his tongue. He knows he doesn't have to reply out loud but it's automatic and he could do without someone ringing the men in white coats for the long haired dude sat chatting to himself in the park, _Why, Ezekiel, why are you doing this?_

Ezekiel tries to open his own mind, to let Sam have access to his thoughts and feelings. Maybe then he will understand that he's simply doing what his father asked, looking after his greatest creations.

Sam gasps as he's pulled down into the angel's mind. It's bright and airy and so very simple. He has one objective in his very long life, to protect, to pave the way, to allow those below him to raise themselves up.

He sees God; not a body with a face or a set of eyes, but a celestial ball of energy that encompasses every angel's mind. He feels the loss of that light and warmth, the black cavern of hopelessness when God left, walked away from his most loving sons.

He feels the sting of tears flowing down his cheeks as Ezekiel casts himself into Sam's memories, into Sam's thoughts and fears.

_I am simply a son trying to live up to his father's will. To show him that if and when he returns, he can be proud of us, of the work we have continued in his absence. You must know what that feels like Sam._

Sam's eyes are still closed but he can see everything. He can see the seventh shade in the wheel, the haze of light surrounding every creature on the planet. The strings that connect and entangle each living thing until the pathways are jumbled balls of twine, impossible to straighten, impossible to map, _Then why are so many of your kind hell bent on killing us, not just me and Dean, all of us?_

_They are lost, a little like you. They do not know what it is they have been sent here to do anymore. The arch angels dripped poison in their ears until all they could hear was the thud of your treacherous murdering hearts. They assumed that all humans deserved the same fate. They, what is it you say...tarred you all with the same brush._

Ezekiel smooths himself against Sam's mind, slides his consciousness up against the hunter's until they can't tell each other apart. He sheds light in the darkened corners, creeps into every crevice until Sam is grasping at the wood of the bench beneath him and panting.

It's an odd sensation, like having a dentist drill rattling at the centre of his mind. It sparks and itches, snaps electricity along his nerves, forces him to see it all, everything he's ever discarded for fear it will break him.

_He loves you Sam. You know this. You feel it every time he sinks into you. The way he lays his hands at your hip, the insistent and constant need to be inside you, body and soul. Look, feel it for yourself._

Sam watches Dean through the angel's eyes, through the fine sheen of omnipotence. He feels Dean's fingers on his cheek, the warmth of his palm seeping along his veins, heating and calming as it goes. Dolby surround sound visions of sex so powerful, so full of everything he's ever wanted that he's half hard and wanting at the same time as sobbing, loudly and unashamedly.

_When he asked me to help, when he requested an angelic solution, he was not being selfish, he was not aiming to hurt you, betray you, he was so very afraid of losing you. You have always been his everything Sam. What I said to you in your mind, when Death was about to take you, it was every ounce the truth._

Sam can't form words, not out loud and not in his mind, but he manages to fight passed the heavy weight of emotion still shuddering through his body and the angel answers his unasked question.

_Yes, I was there, in your mind, in your ever after, or what was nearly your after. Do you wish to see it?_.

Sam nods and braces himself for a brown acid trip.

It's not quite what he was expecting, there's no falling face first onto a rug in the middle of Christmases passed. He is simply standing in the doorway of a hunting cabin, watching himself talk to Death and feeling like he's slightly lighter in the middle, like he's split between the memory and the man.

He hears himself beg Death for a proper release, he hears Death promise he will hold up his end and then he sees Dean materialise in front of them both. The look of pain, of loss in his eyes is almost too much but Sam refuses to allow himself to turn away. 

He knows it's not really Dean, but Ezekiel wearing his face.

That doesn't stop the palpable anguish in his brother's voice.

_I used your brother's thoughts, your brother's memories and I chose to channel him, knowing you would not respond to anything other than the truth of his feelings for you_

Sam swallows passed the lump in his throat and strains to hear Zeke/Dean begging him not to give up.

"There ain't no me if there ain't no you!"

The truth of those words, the heightened sense of self Sam gets from hearing those words coming out of Dean's mouth, even if they aren't really Dean's lips, Dean's eyes full of unshed tears, they are what Dean _would_ say if he knew how to work passed the macho bullshit blanket he's wrapped himself in for the last three decades.

Ezekiel pulls Sam back from the cloaked memory, plucks him from past and throws him back into the present, into his shivering, wanting body.

_See, do you see? He is not a selfish person, I mean no more than the rest of you, he simply does not know how to function without you in his life. The sheer force of panic I felt inside your brother's heart when I allowed him to connect with me to see you was sharp enough to slice even my mind and I do not have a soul to break or sell._

Sam gasps again, almost topples backwards off the bench and feels his heart rate pick up. He's aching and hard and the angel in his mind smiles at the visceral reaction to the knowledge that Dean loves him more than any other being on the planet, so much so that he's willing to risk alienation and hatred just so that he does not have to watch his brother die.

Dean would rather live a life where Sam is around and angry enough to walk away from him than stay in a world where he doesn't have the chance.

_Zeke..._

_Go to him, now. Tell him that you understand because right at this moment he does not know if you will ever be able to claw back what was lost._

Sam stumbles off the bench, wills his shaking legs to carry him the three hundred yards to their angelically repaired door, _Will you be..._

_That depends on whether or not you want me to witness._

Sam doesn't know what he wants outside of the feel of Dean's arms around him and lets the question lay unanswered between them.

~^~

Dean's hands shake round the glass of whiskey cradled against his chest.

What if he never understands, what if he's lost Sammy for good?

Dean thinks that at least he will be alive to be hurt, to feel betrayed, to turn his back one final time. He'd rather watch him walk away breathing than have a headstone to visit once a year that never argues back and has nothing to do with his little brother's true essence.

The need to fight for Sam's approval is warring with his own stubborn streak as he sips fiery liquid and grimaces with every mouthful. 

He could go out there and try and beat some sense into his little brother, or beg, although begging usually ends with him throwing a punch. Never was one for being contrite, even if he deserved his lumps.

Dean's about to stalk outside and start shouting the odds when the handle turns and Sam is standing in the doorway, "Sammy...I..."

Sam doesn't allow Dean's stunning ability to put his size tens in it every time to distract him from what he wants, what he craves, and closes the distance between them in three large strides.

Sam swallows Dean's words, laps them up and savours the flavour on the back of his tongue. Knowing his brother he would only say something to get Sam's back up, they're as bad as each other and right now they need this, they need to reconnect the only way they've ever been able to communicate properly.

Touch can't lie, touch doesn't take anything out of context, touch is the one thing they are good at.

Dean's body is engulfed by Sam's oversized frame, heat radiating across the tiny gap between them. He doesn't know what to think, whether this is a new and underhand way of fighting or whether Sam is really and truly pouring everything into the slide of lips against lips.

As Sam's hands come up to cup Dean's cheeks, the older man wonders if Sam's finally snapped and is going to rev him up and leave him wanting out of a base need for revenge.

Dean doesn't think even at his most furious Sam's that cruel, or suicidal, "Sammy, are we...is this..."

Sam relinquishes Dean's mouth just long enough to glare and nod before re-claiming the already kiss-swollen flesh of his brother's bottom lip.

Sam won't allow this to turn into a 'chick-flick' moment. Not because they don't need to talk but because the images of Dean broken and baring his soul are still lodged in the back of his mind and he needs to dispel the hurt, the ache in his brother's heart and the only way he knows how to do that is with flesh against flesh. 

Hands and tongue and miles of tanned skin exposed like raw nerves, like violin strings, pulled tight and ready to be plucked and played until they're both singing from the same song sheet.

Shoving Dean against the bed, forcing him backwards until the taut muscles of his calves come into contact with the mattress, Sam claws at his brother's short hair, twisting fingers against spiky bristles until he can yank his head sideways, exposing his jumping pulse point.

Dean exerts minimal resistance to Sam's almost violent ministrations, letting himself be bodily thrown onto the bed, bouncing a little as his stomach takes a moment to catch up with the rest of him.

Sam follows Dean down, covers his body, uses his superior size to pin his brother in place, "I get it. I don't like it, am never going to like it, but I _get_ it."

The thick emotion in Sam's voice brings Dean's attention back to the look of pain on his little brother's face and he leans up on his elbows, levels his gaze on Sam's darting eyes, "What happened?"

_What do I tell him?_

Ezekiel pushes his way forward, floats into Sam's consciousness and lets the utter stupidity of his question fire back at him, _The truth._

Sam nods, not to Dean but to himself and the man with the underweight Sasquatch currently pinning him to the bed thinks perhaps he and Ezekiel might need a little chat of their own later, if only to say thank you, because he suspects that the angel is the reason Sam is climbing all over him instead of beating the tar out of him or walking away.

_Can I show him, can you show him, what you said to me, inside my head?_

Ezekiel sighs and tries to ignore the raging blood pressure, the heat still zinging along Sam's nerves and concentrates on allowing just enough of himself into Sam's body to share the vision, _Put your hand on his cheek._

The slight blue hue in Sam's usually deep jade eyes is a little disconcerting but Dean doesn't shy away when one large hand comes up to cup his cheek.

"I want to show you something."

Dean stills under Sam's hand and waits, knowing that the angel inside is giving him a gift, giving them both a piece of the puzzle.

Dean is sucked into the cabin in the woods that he wishes he'd never seen.

He hears everything Sam's saying to Death for the second time and it's no less gut wrenching than the first. Balling his mental fists and biting down hard on his lip, Dean forces himself to watch. There's obviously something here that Sam needs him to see.

"There ain't no me if there ain't no you!"

Dean shudders and gasps, audibly gulps down air and turns to where he thinks the angel is hiding in the shadows, "Why did you say that, why did you..."

"Because it is the truth Dean. Would you want me to lie with your lips? Use your tongue to twist the facts. You love him, more than I thought possible for a simple human, and I felt he needed to know. And he thinks you need to know that he now understands. All those things you never said because you were too afraid he would reject you. It is done Dean. Do not throw this chance away."

Dean's dragged back into the present, back to Sam's familiar weight surrounding him and delicious unique scent invading his lungs. He's pulled back from the brink of his heart being broken and sees the light of understanding in his baby brother's eyes and realises he can either feign being a caveman or man up, "It might not have been me, but I meant every word."

Sam's yanked out of the vision at the same time as Dean and finds himself laughing loud and long and deep, laughing so hard his whole body shakes with it, "You know that makes about as much sense as you ever do, right?"

Ezekiel steps back, slides into the very back of Sam's mind, not willing to disturb this moment but unwilling to allow it to pass him by. He's never seen two humans so intricately woven together, so connected on every level, and if he were capable of feeling jealousy, he would be raging at his father for withholding the ability to love this deeply from his brothers and himself.

As the laughter subsides, Sam finds himself unable to breath, unable to think about anything other than Dean's half hard cock pressing into his belly, about his thighs spread wide and wrapped invitingly around his hips.

Grinding his brother down into the bed, Sam struggles with the zipper on his jeans before attacking Dean's trousers

They manage to rid themselves of all obstructions, between two sets of hands and joint stolid determination, and Sam palm wraps their twitching cocks, rings finger and thumb around their slick heads until Dean is keening and slamming his head back into the pillows.

He wants Sam to bury himself balls deep in searing heat but the need to feel skin on skin outweighs his needs to be fucked until he can't walk in a straight line and Dean finds himself bucking up into Sam's callused palm and begging for more, always more, "Please, just need..you, just need you Sammy."

Sam doesn't need telling twice, not when he can feel Zeke in the back of his mind, urging him on.

He has a brief moment of feeling very naked, despite the fact it's only his ass and cock exposed to the cool air of the room.

Ezekiel can see and feel everything. can fan the flames of desire licking along his subconscious and Sam doesn't know what to do, whether he's meant to feel ashamed or invigorated at this display of love and trust in front of the angel residing in his body.

He hears the angel gasp in his mind and wonders fleetingly if any of the heavenly host has ever known 'the pleasures of the flesh' before rotating his hips and gripping their joined cocks tight. The flick of a wrist is all it takes to roll Dean's eyes back in his head and Sam leans forward and latches onto his jugular, sucks sweat slicked flesh between his teeth.

Dean's lost in the sensations Sam's hand is creating, in the tightening of his balls and the airlessness of the room. He knows that Zeke is acknowledged which means he will be watching and deducing and mapping out the play of human emotion on both their faces but he can't bring himself to care.

Sam moves his hips like a lap dancer on commission and Dean silently prays he doesn't blow his load before Sam's ready to jump off the ledge with him, "Baby boy, I need you too...nearly there!"

Sam growls around the skin still lodged between his teeth and sucks hard enough to leave a violent purple mark and raised flesh. A mark that will sting and remind his brother of this moment for days to come.

Snapping his hips forward, Sam fucks his own hand and bites down on his bottom lip at the sound of Ezekiel sucking down mouthfuls of air. Between the angel and himself he's got too much oxygen and not enough lung capacity and Sam's head spins fast and furious.

As Sam's head comes up and his mouth opens in a wide 'O' Dean's body vibrates and his orgasm rocks though him, forces noises he didn't know he was capable of out of his mouth.

Sam feels Dean's cock jump and pulse in his hand before streams of hot slick come spurt between them and his own orgasm rips his soul anew, lets little cracks of light shine out until he is falling into his brother's warmth with a sense of beginning tingeing every twitch of his skin, every beat of his heart.

Even though Ezekiel has braced himself for this, has experienced it before when Dean could not hold himself away from his brother despite knowing he was always in the background, he is knocked flat by the sheer magnitude of truth in the sensations and feelings as Sam tips over the edge.

Dean lets his head disappear beneath the pillows until Sam chuckles and runs a nail along the line of his jaw. Looking up into shining eyes, Dean realises that there's more than a little angel staring back at him and he smirks before wiggling his hips, "Enjoy the show?"

Sam laughs and drops a chaste kiss at the corner of Dean's mouth, "I think if he was capable he'd tell you too fuck off."


End file.
